


Small Corrections

by Transom (ThegoodshipRickyl)



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF
Genre: First Time, Kitchen Sex, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 02:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11819703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThegoodshipRickyl/pseuds/Transom
Summary: James is bothered when there's time left on the microwave.Jeremy is usually the one that's left it there.





	Small Corrections

James could sort a deck of cards over and over again. It's sort of soothing; separate the reds and the blacks, now by suit, then number. _Aces low, you're not a heathen_. He does it automatically before putting up the deck, sliding into it's case then nestling it into it's proper place in the kitchen drawer with all his other odds and sods. If James has to put up with looks of theatrical exasperation from Jeremy every single time, so be it. 

 

“It's fun," he defends himself. 

 

“Your definition of fun is very odd indeed.” 

 

“Well, fun is subjective, isn't it?” 

 

Jeremy likes coming round and listening to whatever James puts on for him, sometimes classical, sometimes Jethro Tull or whatever, and sometimes they play cards and drink beer, talk like the grumpy old men they are. _Oh, isn't Richard's new hair horrible? Oh, haven't they bollocksed the new BM to bits?_

__

__

 

 _That shirt actually looks rather nice on you, Jeremy,_ is a new one, though. And once it's out, James can't help the twist of his lips, half embarrassed, half pleased with himself. 

 

“That sounded like a _flirt_.” Jeremy is looking him dead in the eyes, wearing a half-grin of his own. _Aha, I've got you_. 

 

James smirks, his beer inches from his mouth. “I'd been meaning to tell you," he says, a bit shy. 

 

Jeremy steps closer, backing him against the kitchen counter. "Have you?" 

 

James clears his throat conspicuously. “Erm…” 

 

Jeremy shushes him. “Thinking. Bad.” 

 

James swallows hard but lets himself be kissed, actually lets Jeremy rest his hands on his shoulders, holding him steady. Jeremy doesn't let it last, though _God_ , James wants him to, wants Jeremy to stop him thinking, because it's like a leaking tap. More sound-of-mind things to do: _Go sweep the garden shed again. Order that bike part. Stop kissing Jeremy Sodding Clarkson._

 

When he is let go, he is hot all over, shaking slightly under Jeremy's hands, but he doesn't run off like he’s thought of doing so often in the short time since this all started. Instead, he steels himself for a few moments before reaching his hands out to rest on Jeremy's sides, light and unsure. 

 

“If we're going to do this,” he says, hiding the tremor in his voice quite unsuccessfully, “you need to let me –“ He cuts himself off, swallowing again. 

 

He shakes his head, looks down at his feet, so Jeremy steps closer. “You have me, James,” he promises. “For all that's worth.” He presses a kiss to James’ forehead, quickly, as if he won't get to again for a while. “If you need to… take some time. Discuss this amongst yourself….” 

 

James looks back up and gives him an arched eyebrow. “I thought thinking was bad.” 

 

Jeremy shrugs. “ _I'd_ rather we didn't. But then I’m not you.” 

 

“Perhaps I'm rubbing off on you,” James mutters, hands sliding down to Jeremy's waist, fingers working their way into his belt loops. 

 

Jeremy groans. “You can't just say those _words_.” 

 

“Are you picturing it?” James asks, blushing. 

 

“Do I have cause to be?” 

 

James ducks his head. “I still haven't worked out if this is idiotic or not.” 

 

“Thanks _awful_ much, James.” 

 

“You know what I mean.” 

 

“Not really, no. We've done…. God, we have done the most moronic, senseless things in the past, said them _and_ done them. This… actually makes a modicum of sense, to me anyway.” 

 

“To you,” James says tiredly. He presses his hands into Jeremy's chest and stares at them, feels his eyes begin to cross and has to shake his head. 

 

He sounds like he means it, though. Talking sense. “You're right,” James decides. “You really are right. Thinking _is_ stupid.” His fingers curl into Jeremy's shirt, the one that looks so _obnoxiously_ good on him. He ignores the prickles of fear in his veins and the lump in his throat, and his voice comes out strained. “Now bloody kiss me, you oaf.” 

 

Jeremy grins and does as he's told, crumples James into him and fits their mouths together. James is glad his arms are rendered virtually immobile, as he scarcely has the faintest idea what to do with them. There is simply so much of Jeremy, he's all around, and he's so warm…. So why doesn't he feel like panicking, like he's trapped? The icy fear in him melts with his touch, and that's a strange, thrilling first, nearly enough to make his head spin. 

 

Jeremy's hands work their way all over him, squeezing at his waist, exploring up the back of his t-shirt. James starts at the first touch to his bare skin, but Jeremy hums into his mouth, calming, steadying. Jeremy spreads his hand out, pulls James in tighter, fingers almost cool against the heated, sweat-slick skin of his lower back. 

 

James lets out a small, soft noise and lets himself be handled, then inches his fingers up to Jeremy's shoulders, and on to cup his neck. Jeremy grins devilishly into their kiss, then lets him go to lick at the tip of his nose. 

 

“Eurgh!” James pulls back to wipe at it with the sleeve of his t-shirt, and Jeremy nearly falls to the ground laughing, uses James to hold himself up. 

 

“I'm sorry,” he manages, muffled, face mashed into James’ shirt. 

 

“You're _not_.” When Jeremy gets it out of his system, James pulls him back up to return the gesture, a little more aggressive than Jeremy had done it, grabbing him by his hair and practically mashing his nose against his tongue. 

 

Jeremy grins and laughs again and kisses him, harder than before, pushing him against the counter with more enthusiasm. 

 

 _So he likes it playful_ , James thinks, shivering at the idea. He pulls back to give Jeremy an appraising look. 

 

Jeremy narrows his eyes at him. “You've been thinking, haven't you?” 

 

“Not with my brain.” James goes red, looks up at him through his hair. “Just... put me on the counter. Yeah?” 

 

Jeremy's eyes go wide, dark, and James shivers again as his hands slide around to the back of his thighs, skin on denim on skin. Rather _sensitive_ skin, James realizes, a rush going through him. Jeremy looks at him, waiting. 

 

James nods and jumps up at the same time Jeremy lifts him with a groan, and he lands rather unceremoniously on the countertop, grunting. His hair flops into his eyes and he just manages to push it out of the way before Jeremy is kissing him breathlessly, his hands around his neck and his long fingers buried in his hair. He parts James’ knees and gets in between them, slides his hands to his hips, James gasping against him as he handles him into position. 

 

James’ legs press into Jeremy's willingly, his arms pull him in by the waist, and his cock pushes hard against the front of his jeans, very interested in the turn they have taken. He feels for an answer from Jeremy, hears him whimper when he gets it. 

 

They’ve stopped kissing, but stay attached, forehead to forehead, breath mingling. “What do you want?” James murmurs. He tries not to be afraid, but if Jeremy asks for too much…. 

 

“Can you touch me?” he asks, quietly, and James lets out a breath, nods, takes Jeremy for another soft kiss. 

 

Jeremy's shirt rustles under his hands as he skims down his sides and around to the waist of his jeans. He curses his unsteady fumblings as he tries to get him unbuttoned as quickly as possible. 

 

“I can't believe I have to tell _you_ this,” Jeremy says calmly, “but you _can_ take it slow.” 

 

James flushes, embarrassed, but Jeremy presses a kiss to his forehead. “I won't burst if you take your time,” he assures him. “I'm not twenty-five anymore, as you might've noticed.” 

 

James nods, takes a deep breath. _Just Jeremy_. 

 

Jeremy sucks in a breath as James pulls the zip down all the way, puts a cautious hand down his pants and pulls him out. The nervous first touch is enough to make Jeremy buck his hips, restless, and he leans down to pour some of his excess energy into another kiss. James moans, a little in surprise, a little in gratitude, as the focus is taken away from his unsteady hand. 

 

He strokes Jeremy tentatively, temporarily flummoxed by the unfamiliar angle. Jeremy doesn't seem to mind his halting first attempts though, as he groans deeply with each increasingly confident movement. James remembers how he likes to be surprised and gives his hand a twist, squeezes firmly all the way down his length. 

 

Jeremy growls, and it goes through James like a lightning bolt. He thrusts up into James’ hand, hard, and James instinctively tightens his grip, thrilling with the effect this has on him. His own cock pulses when Jeremy plants his hand on the cabinet behind James’ head and starts to fuck his hand in earnest. He tries to keep kissing him, keep their mouths connected, but soon has to break away for air. James reaches his free hand up to place it on Jeremy’s, slides it down the back of his hand before wrapping his fingers around his wrist, holding on. Jeremy's lips find their way to his forehead and then into his hair, more clumsy presses of his mouth than proper kisses as he becomes more and more distracted by the warmth of James’ hand, wet and sliding now as his cock begins to leak desperately. 

 

James tilts his head back to find Jeremy's mouth, pulls him down to kiss him again, starts pumping his cock harder, faster. The cabinet door clunks as Jeremy searches for purchase, hooking his fingers inside and grabbing on desperately. He lets go of James' lips with a gasp, breathing more harshly with every thrust, his head falling to James’ shoulder. 

 

An almost piteous whimper escapes him as he comes helplessly into James’ hand, sudden and startling, his cock throbbing with every hot pulse. James starts too, moaning quietly into Jeremy's mouth, pulling him closer with his free arm around his neck. Jeremy rides it out, sharp jerks of his hips with James’ fingers still wrapped around him. He finishes with a few achingly slow thrusts, and James lets go of him to tug him impossibly closer with both arms and kiss him like he's all the air that he needs. 

 

Jeremy leans heavily into him, seeming desperate to catch his breath but equally unwilling to ever stop kissing him. James pulls himself to the edge of the countertop with his legs around Jeremy's hips and presses against him experimentally, his still fully-clad cock against Jeremy's, going soft but still intrigued by the proceedings, even if only as a bystander. 

 

They break apart reluctantly, Jeremy finally getting to breathe, and James resting his forehead on Jeremy's chest. Jeremy runs a gentle, questioning hand down to press between his legs, drawing out a quiet moan. 

 

“ _Please_.” 

 

It's barely a breath against Jeremy's chest, but his hips rock forward into Jeremy's hand, so Jeremy pushes harder and James squirms, breath hitching. 

 

“Can I touch you, James?” he asks, whispering in his ear. “Is that… alright?” 

 

There's a moment, where everything hangs by a thread, breath held, but then James nods, barely, his hair rustling on Jeremy's shirt. Jeremy swallows and his fingers go cautiously to James’ button, flicking it open gently. He pulls the zip down at an equally sedate pace, and feels James’ arms tense around his neck. 

 

James looks down, catches a peek of Jeremy pulling his cock out, then quickly looks away again. His cheeks burn through, echoing the heat he feels through Jeremy's shirt, and when Jeremy lifts a hand to bury it into his hair, James shudders out a breath and sniffs. 

 

“It's a lot,” he mutters. Jeremy shushes him gently. 

 

“It's just me,” he reminds him. “We can stop, if you need, or slow down.” 

 

James starts slightly at that, looks up at him with raised eyebrows. “From you?” 

 

“Yes,” Jeremy assures him, sounding fond and amused, before bending down for a kiss. It's meant to be brief, but James can't help sinking into it, appreciating the reprieve, the return to familiar territory. 

 

“Don't want to stop,” James murmurs into the kiss. His knees grip Jeremy tightly, and he arches into the touch when Jeremy splays his hands out on his back. 

 

“I don't either,” Jeremy confesses, grinning happily. “I want to see you.” 

 

James smiles against him, shyly, kisses his way down to his neck, to the skin exposed by his open collar. He runs his hand down Jeremy's chest, and then up his own thigh, eventually finding his way to his cock, hissing quietly as he wraps his fingers around it. He whimpers and moans as he tugs himself, lets his forehead rest against Jeremy, his hair falling forward and brushing Jeremy's shirt. Jeremy kisses the top of his head and holds him, wraps his arms around his shoulders, one hand burrowed into his hair at the nape of his neck. 

 

James squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on Jeremy all around him, big and warm. His breath hitches as his cock jumps in his hand, eager. His other hand grips the edge of the counter, white-knuckled, and he tries to make every stroke count, long and deliberate. Jeremy's fingers wind their way into his hair and grab on, tilting his head back, just enough to let him kiss his forehead. 

 

James surges up, overcome, to kiss Jeremy fully, shivers as Jeremy's fingers tighten, scratching his scalp lightly. He breathes hard through his nose as his cock throbs and his whole body arches in pleasure, burning with it. He whimpers when Jeremy's other hand goes to his lower back and worms its way under his shirt, fingertips sliding just under the waistband of his jeans, pressing cautiously. It's almost a touch too much, makes James almost dizzy, makes him break his kiss with Jeremy to once again bury his face in his chest. 

 

“James,” Jeremy says, breathless, “C’mon. Does it feel good?” 

 

James nods against him, holds back a sob and tries to steady his grip. He knows it will be futile, he feels too good to last a minute longer, his body thrumming with pleasure, head to toe. 

 

“Well,” Jeremy says, low and casual, into his ear. “Show me, then.” 

 

He comes at that with a soft gasp, breath stuttering, legs trembling slightly, his spine turning to jelly and everything else going white-hot. Jeremy's shirt gets painted, gets slumped against as he sinks into him, helpless, while Jeremy takes his weight and holds him, gentle, lets him shudder and gasp for air, soothes his hands over his back, up and down, up and down. 

 

James relaxes with the touch, sighs and pushes his head into Jeremy, letting his breathing even. “ _Christ_ ,” he pants, appreciative. 

 

Jeremy chuckles quietly above him. “Glad you enjoyed yourself. My legs _and_ back will be letting me have it for _days_.” 

 

“Stuff it, Clarkson,” he mutters good-naturedly. 

 

“Ooh, not tonight, love. Maybe some other time, hmm?” 

 

James goes deep red and starts to do up his jeans just to give his hands something to do, but Jeremy stops him. 

 

“Come to bed?” he asks, quiet, hesitant. His eyes bore into James’, searching. 

 

“It's _my_ house,” James protests weakly, but a not entirely unwelcome thrill goes through him at the thought of sharing a bed with Jeremy, because he _wants_ to, not because they're in some third world country and they have to share with Richard and half the crew and a load of farm animals. 

 

Jeremy shrugs. “Either way, I'd better get out of this thing.” 

 

He starts unbuttoning his shirt and James’ throat goes dry, his mouth closing so abruptly his teeth click. “Alright,” he breathes. “You'll stay the night, then?” 

 

Jeremy pauses with one of the middle buttons in hand. “With you?” 

 

James flushes under his cautiously hopeful stare, and he nods. Jeremy smiles back and finishes with his shirt, shrugging out of it and tossing it towards James’ laundry room. James rolls his eyes, annoyed, but before he can tell him to go take care of it properly, Jeremy's hands are at the bottom of his t-shirt, questioning. 

 

James blushes but nods, remembering that his has been dirtied too. He holds his arms up for Jeremy to slide it off and throw it onto the forming pile. 

 

Jeremy backs away to start stepping out of his jeans. James slides off the counter, a bit stiff, and mirrors him, until they're both down to their underwear, looking like unglamorous middle-aged blokes who had certainly not consummated a potentially ridiculous affair mere minutes ago. 

 

James decides he doesn't give a toss, wants to go up to him and kiss him anyway. _Take that_. 

 

And if Jeremy can stop kissing him long enough, he can take him to bed. Anytime he likes, if he plays his cards right.


End file.
